Musings by the Firepit, Part 2

The writing has not gone well.  Short stories are being rejected (though I only sent out a couple to a few places) and novels are not being written.  I am very confident that I'll write more--and more consistently--once I'm in my own office in the new house.  I always wrote more there--but not always better--and of course that was a much different time.  And I was a much different person.  But I do feel strongly that I'll get more done, and focus better.

But that's just Resistance, as Steven Pressfield would say, and he's right.  I could write more RIGHT NOW.  I could stop "researching" so much and use what I've got RIGHT NOW.  Anything else is some kind of excuse.  I know this.  I know this.  I know this.

The fire is smoldering; the light is dimmer (though nothing can compare to the inferno I've sustained for the past few hours!); and the flickering flames, still strong, are clearly petering out.  I'm finishing my drink.  I don't want to put the last of the short, thick logs on because they take forever to burn.  And somewhere off in the neighborhood, some guy has emptied his bottles and cans into the huge recycling bin we all have--surely a loud sign that the July 4th weekend is over!

And yet I will write to the last, to the last flicker, to the last remnant of smoldering wood, to the last drop of my drink.  Because we don't ever want the fire to go out, do we?  We don't ever want to be done.  We will fight to the last--we will rage to the dying of the light.  My better half is in bed, sleeping, and this fire keeps crumbling...I know I'll have tomorrow, but how many more tomorrows will any of us have?  How much fire is left?

I dedicate this to my father and Mary, both who died too young.  May their flames burn on.

Musing by the Firepit

Hey, it's been a long time.  Again.  Sorry for the disappearance; buying another house, doing something with mine, professional responsibilities, dealing with agents, lawyers, inspectors...No time at all to blog, or to write anything.  Last night was the first time in a long time that I was able to write anything at all; but write I did, for a couple of hours, with breaks, over an awesome firepit that was so well stocked that I could see more than well enough to write by just the firelight, up until I decided to let it go out at 1 a.m.  It was a wonderful release, so here's some of it, with possibly more to come next time.

Just at midnight, so July 5th.  I'm writing by my firepit's warm glow.  On an 80 degree night, I'm so close to it, and it's so hot, I'm melting.  The flickering effect is very cool.  I've always wanted to do this...Wait, it's getting lower...There.  Took some doing, but awesome job.  I look forward to doing this in my new home's fireplace--all winter!  He'd be surprised to know this, but I think of my father every day.  I wish he'd told us more of what he was going through.  I would've gone over more; I would've told him I'd loved him more often; I would've asked to stay the night, spend more time.  I miss him all the time.  It was so fast--better for him, of course, but...I can't believe he's gone, though it's been since the beginning of March and you'd think I'd be over it by now.  Nothing's the same...

This firepit is one of the few things that calms me down.  I need to actively do more of that, everyday.  I need to calm down and appreciate everyone and everything more--my better half, my pets, my homes, my career, my health, my friends, my abilities, my writing.  Everything!

To calm down every day, I could have my ice coffee every morning with raisin bread, like my father used to.  I could wake up earlier so I'm not always hurrying and stressed.  I have a feeling that I've been like that for so long that I'm stressed without realizing it.  I need to read and write every day.  Maybe have a firepit or a fireplace fire more often.  The flickering flames and the crackling embers are fantastic!  I just need to be happier!  I can be, and I should be, so why aren't I?